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by talkingtothesky



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We do <i>not</i> work thirty-six hours non-stop, ever again.”</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Backdated crossposting - first posted [here](http://talkingtothesky.livejournal.com/174721.html) on my LJ (f-locked entry).

Sam practically fell into Gene’s lap. Under different circumstances, this would have been a very good start. This time, it was simply because they were suffering far beyond humane levels of exhaustion.

 

“This job will kill us,” Gene announced, finally. He hadn’t spoken all the way home because it had taken all his energy to concentrate on driving. Now he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, attempted to shift him into a more comfortable position. “If you sleep like this, we’ll both get cramp.”

 

Sam attempted to lever himself upright on one arm but flopped back down when he was halfway there. Gene’s thigh acquired another bruise. “I don’t think I can move,” Sam said, ruefully.

 

“Next time we delegate.”

 

“And what if there’s a situation where we can’t trust the others, like this one?”

 

“Then we bloody well come home and sleep when it gets dark. We do _not_ work thirty-six hours non-stop, ever again.”

 

“We got him, though. That’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, suppose. Definitely sleeping here on the sofa?”

 

“Looks like it.” Sam yawned. He seemed reasonably comfortable, much to the annoyance of Gene and his bad back.

 

Gene put as much sarcasm as he could muster into his next question. “Couldn’t pass me that cushion, could you?”

 

“Nope,” came Sam’s trite reply.

 

“Selfish git.”

 

Another yawn. “That’s me.”

 

“Night, then, Gladys.”

 

“Night.”


End file.
